


To the Victors

by fantastic_rambles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Angst, Assisted Suicide, F/M, If They Lost, Murder, One Shot, Psychological Torture, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-15
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 05:28:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28773078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fantastic_rambles/pseuds/fantastic_rambles
Summary: What would happen if Narcissa had not betrayed the Dark Lord and told him that Harry was still alive? How would the wizarding world react to the true death of their intended savior? When Tonks is captured, she thinks that there is no hope left, but Bellatrix is determined to prove her wrong and completely break her Mudblood niece.
Relationships: Remus Lupin/Nymphadora Tonks
Kudos: 1





	To the Victors

She leaned against the wall, eyes closed, her tears long since run dry. The stone was cool and reassuringly solid beneath her pale cheek, anchoring her to this cruel reality, this nightmare that she couldn't wake up from.

It had started not soon after the Battle of Hogwarts. As the news of Harry's death spread, a sense of despair followed in its wake. Their final hope, the savior of the wizarding world, gone. The forces of darkness redoubled their attack as the Order crumbled before them. Left with no choice, the light had fled to regroup, seeking an opportunity that had never presented itself. Instead...

Bitter bile filled her mouth. Remus had been one of the first to be captured, hunted down like an animal under the full moon. Without someone capable of making the Wolfsbane, it had been the safest option--for everyone but him. As the disappearances began again, they'd all gone into hiding, hoping to weather the storm... until Dung betrayed them all. He'd gone to the Death Eaters, begging for amnesty in exchange for his compatriots. But the Death Eaters had simply tortured all of the information out of him before killing him anyways. They had no use for a weak, unscrupulous traitor now that the war was won.

She had hated him, once. She had raged at his treachery as their sanctuaries were invaded and destroyed. But as their numbers dwindled, the anger had faded to numb unfeeling. When she was one of the last, she'd given up on disguising herself, and when the shadows had finally come for her, she couldn't even find the strength to resist.

A thin shaft of light illuminated a shock of lank, mousy hair, but she didn't look up. When the door clanged shut, she didn't flinch, reduced to passive indifference. And when the spell hit, she arched in agony, mouth open in silent scream as her bloody fingers scrabbled against the wall, painting it scarlet. Yet, she almost welcomed the pain that offered her a few moments of blissful forgetting, the raw, white heat that seared through her mind and burned away the memories. The emptiness seemed to stretch on forever, an eternity of screaming nerves.

Then, the magical connection broke, and she crumbled like a marionette cut from its strings. Loose-limbed and gasping harshly through a raw throat, she sprawled at the feet of her tormentor, gazing up at the fanatical, gleaming eyes of her _dear_ , mad aunt: Bellatrix Lestrange.

If anything, the victory seemed to have made Bellatrix more ruthless, ever eager to engage her cruel tastes. At the beginning, she had regaled Tonks with stories about her exploits, describing them with a pleasure that bordered on sexual gratification. She had crowed about familiar names reduced to babbling masses of bloody flesh, and Tonks had risen to the bait more than once, only to be cursed into oblivion. Until she stopped caring.

The older woman exuded confidence and scorn, an utter disregard for her former enemies. But why shouldn't she? After all, they could never pose a threat now, not with Dumbledore gone, not with Harry gone; they were just toys for her little game of cat and mouse. And like a child, she grew bored when her toys broke, discarding them and seeking new novelty. It couldn't be long now...

This time was different, though, and Tonks tried to focus through her lethargy. Yet, she couldn't make herself interested in what Bellatrix was saying. There was no flare of self-righteous indignation as her aunt besmirched the memory of her mother, no frustrated helplessness as her aunt imparted the story of Harry's death. They'd never learned the details; all they knew was that Harry had gone into the Forbidden Forest at You-Know-Who's ultimatum and come out in Hagrid's arms, a grisly trophy in the ultimate image of submission.

"He died like a dog, at the Dark Lord's feet. He didn't cry or beg--he was just like you, too noble for such a thing, but in his eyes, he knew he was dead. Whatever magic he had that let him survive the first blow didn't save him from the second. Perhaps he thought Cissy wouldn't betray him, but she's no fool. And I took the precaution of removing his head, too!"

Perhaps Narcissa was no fool, but the Order certainly was, blinded by prophecy and hanging all their hopes on a barely-of-age child. Perhaps Dumbledore had been going senile, and in their unerring loyalty, they'd accepted his mad assertions. Perhaps he'd thought they could train Harry properly, that they had enough time. Perhaps he had believed it himself, that Harry was some savior of the light.

He was a child. How could he face a wizard that even the Aurors, trained to combat the darkness, couldn't handle? How could he--

But another burst of pain shattered her thoughts as she writhed against the stone floor, a thin whine escaping through dry, cracked lips. She'd forgotten that Bellatrix hated to be ignored... or maybe she hadn't. She couldn't remember anymore.

She did remember a flicker of disappointment, though, as her aunt strode away, leaving her alive... again.

The door slammed closed, but she didn't realize she wasn't alone until the hoarse, shocked whisper shattered the silence like a gunshot.

"Tonks!"

The name fell strangely on her ears, as though it was rusty from disuse. Yet, with the force of long habit, she turned her head toward the voice, blinking to clear the dark spots obscuring her vision. The eyes that met hers were wide with horror and mirrored her despair. A disbelieving whisper forced itself out of her throat, harsh and rasping, as she recognized the apparition.

"Remus?"

Every nerve in her body screamed in protest as she forced it to move, trying to drag herself closer to the man. He seemed to struggle with himself as he watched her pitiful, undignified attempts, but then he rushed over to pull her into his arms. It was warm in his embrace, and his earthy scent drew her in, weakly clasping her own arms around him. This had to be a prelude to some new torture, but she didn't care. To even see him again one last time, she would have given anything.

The trembling that resonated throughout her body was not hers alone, and she looked up into his haggard face. His expression was haunted as he stared down at her, his eyes shadowed by nightmares greater than her own, and she wanted to kiss them all away. Nothing else could have fanned her fading flame but the sight of this man... and yet, his face told her that a greater horror lay in store, for the both of them.

"Tonks. I had hoped we would never see each other again," Remus finally whispered bleakly, and chills ran down her spine. "Because that would mean that one of us would probably die."

In answer to the unspoken question in her eyes, he continued, "I'm just their mad dog, now. They keep me locked up, and during the full moon, they sometimes throw someone in with me. I don't know how many people I've savaged, or who some of them were. Tonks--"

He paused to hold her out at arm's length, forcing her to meet his eyes. "Tonks, I may never have this chance again. It's terrible for me to ask this of you, but you have to kill me. I can't be their pet monster anymore, killing anything thrown in front of me when I'm just a beast. It's the only reason they've kept me around for so long, so they can watch me tear apart my friends and now, my beloved."

But she was shaking her head, trying to silence the insidious voice. How could he ask her to do this? How could he believe she could hurt him in any way?

"Please, Tonks. It'll be a blessing, I promise. They won't let me end my own life, but you can do it." He lifted her hands to his lips and kissed them tenderly before clasping them around his throat. Horrified, she tried to draw away, but his strength far outstripped hers, holding them fast in place.

"Tonks. If nothing else, help me die as a man. What sort of man would I be if I couldn't protect the one person I love? You're beautiful and brave, darling. You can do this. Please."

He seemed to nod as her hands tightened, the rough edges of nails digging into slack skin. He didn't struggle or seem distressed as his eyes remained locked on hers, suddenly calm... almost peaceful. Her own face was a mask of tormented grief, an expression that even Bellatrix had never seen during the worst tortures.

She almost couldn't finish it. As a bluish tint crept into his face, she nearly let go. But his eyes wouldn't let her. They watched her, silently waiting, trusting her, and when the vague film finally crept across them, turning his gaze to the ceiling, she loosened her grip. She'd done it. He was gone, free at last.

Pulling the limp form to her chest, she felt scalding tears flowing down her cheeks, splashing onto his cooling body as she raised her head in a silent cry of unbearable loss. Anguished, she pressed her lips to his cold ones as maniac laughter echoed outside her prison.


End file.
